Reaching For The Beatific
by mywildcharmsforyou
Summary: Feeling desperate and frustrated living a life she never chose to live, Hermione seeks change into attending college in Italy, far away from her old friends. Draco fails in satisfying himself, and when his best friends offer him change, he grabs it with both hands. Both lost and caught in a whirlwind of drama, hysterica and alcohol, they each find what they never sought. ON HIATUS
1. Prologue: Disappearer I

**Reaching for The Beatific**

 **Book 1: The Styx**

 **Prologue: Disappearer**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I sure wish I did.**

 **A/N: Minor TW regarding depression, insecurity, and an unhealthy sex life.**

 **A/N II: Sorry for the update, I forgot the disclaimer. Oops.**

 **I**

 **I'm becoming a ghost**

 _18_ _th_ _of June 1999_

Summer was just around the corner as a soft spring breeze rustled her thick wild brown hair. It made her eyelids flutter close and with it came the smell of the large pine that stood proudly in the backyard of Harry's home, Grimmauld Place. She felt like floating because of the sensation and the palm of her hand gently stroked the grass, which desperately called for a mown. It tingled and made her feel right at place, a small smile forming on her lips.

The garden here was the only place where she would feel comfortable; the narrow corridors, the dusty rooms and the sneering portrays of the great House Black suffocated her. Along with the memories of the time she had spent here during the war, taking care of wounded people and forging plans to bring down Voldemort (when some people she cared about deeply were still alive and walked within the walls of this house) it was an insufferable combination that forced Hermione to sit in the beautiful garden, which she didn't exactly mind.

She slowly opened her eyes, trying to take her mind of the past and focus on her calming surroundings. The sharp light of the sun blinded her and she had to squeeze her eyes half shut. The world seemed a bit lighter around her due the impact of the white bright light, which made her head a bit dizzy and it took a while before she had adjusted again. When she opened her eyes fully again, she could clearly see the pure green grass, the big pine, the rosebushes, and the hydrangeas and with them the white gardenias she planted just this morning. The compost around it was still fresh and it was a contrast with the old flora that was planted there decades ago.

She had seen them when she was grocery shopping yesterday and had decided quickly that she should buy them, and plant them, so she could keep her hands busy. An old lady was selling all shorts of flowers outside the mall and these white ones had stood out because they were almost innocent. It seemed like a good deed to plant innocent flowers in the previous backyard of a not-so-innocent family, to make it a bit homier.

 _A good deed_.

Many people would say that her whole life had consisted of so-called good deeds, defined by the morality of the human species plus the fact they didn't know her at all. Truth was, she had convicted many crimes in the war, in order to save the world. How many people she had killed in order to save others, was a too big number. Her blood cold and her skin frozen when she spoke the unavoidable curses.

The conscience hadn't kicked in until they had won the war and she walked on the many floors that were covered with dead bodies of her home away from home. Many people believed that all the moments in her life had led up to that battle or the war in general. They supposed she had felt victorious and proud when she had conquered the evil. How they were wrong, _she_ was evil herself too.

If someone would give her the opportunity to change one moment in her life, she would change the moment of her birth. The moment that the magic had settled in her DNA. Because it was true- everything had led up to the war and final battle and what she wouldn't give up to change that. She didn't want to be a killer; she didn't want people to believe her to be the famous ultimate hero, because she wasn't. They thought she was, but she had never been capable of being one. It had been her destiny; there hadn't been a moment when she truly had been given any choice.

She had been born digging her own grave. She was done with digging it, and now she was dead. Not in the literal sense- the evil blood still flooded through her veins, but her soul was the one who was dead.

She was waiting for something good to happen; something that would imply she still had control over her own limits. Something that would imply she was alive.

Being around the nature helped. Being around the suffering people inside the cold house- not so much.

She was waiting for the chance too come, but also too afraid to grab it when it finally represented itself in front of her. Too afraid that once she picked up her life again, the evil inside her would resurrect with her and ruin her future again. She _shit_ on destiny; sitting in a garden was much better.

Planting the white gardenias was one of the first useful things she had done since helping rebuilding Hogwarts- another good deed. She had hoped back then that with restoring it to its old glory, she would find closure. She hoped with planting these flowers that she would make it feel like it was a home for Ron, Harry, Ginny, and her; not that of the Black family. Both attempts hadn't worked out.

But she liked the flowers, and she knew the others would like them too.

Her thought train was irrupted by a noise behind her. She quickly turned around, her eyes taking in a young boy, _man_ , with red hair standing in the doorway of the French doors that led to the garden.

"Ron." Her voice sounded shrill, as if she hadn't used her voice in a while. Maybe she had, she didn't count the times she spoke, but she knew it was not often these days.

"Dinner is ready." His voice was soft and strained- she knew he was tired, tired of fighting the pain and his conscience. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was greasy and his clothes didn't fit his once filled-out muscular body anymore. He looked ill. It didn't bother her the way it should bother her, as his girlfriend. She was just tired too.

He went back inside again. So she followed, waiting long enough to put some distance between them, avoiding with that any awkwardness that could arise in the many hallways that led to the kitchen.

 **-XXXXXXXXX-**

The smell of spaghetti sauce and red wine greeted her warmly when she opened the door to the kitchen. As she stood in the doorway, she took in Ginny who was sitting at the large oak table, nervously sipping her wine, what seemed something that she was doing all day and night long. Harry was grabbing the spoons and forks out of the dresser, making an awful lot of noise. Ron was staring blankly at the wall, his hands folded in front of him. They didn't seem to notice she was even there.

She softly closed the door and took a seat at the head of table, carefully folding her hands in front of her. In front of her on the table was a large pan filled with spaghetti, the smell was nauseating, but she couldn't afford to eat even less. She believed that the only thing they ate when Molly wasn't around was spaghetti; it was the only thing Ginny could cook.

Harry had returned from the kitchen and began to fill everyone's plates. She frowned; it had been a while since Harry had been so _active_. "Have a nice meal." Ginny almost whispered. Only Harry picked up his spoon and began to eat. Ron just kept staring. She grabbed the wine bottle from across the table and poured her glass the French way.

"Hermione, can you pour me a glass too?" Harry asked. She just looked at him and obeyed.

It was the first time this day they acknowledged her presence. He didn't even thank her. She took a large gulp of her wine.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?" She turned to look at him.

He looked at her with a frown, appearing to study her eyes and what they may hold. "I suppose Ron hasn't told you yet."

Her eyebrows formed automatically into a frown too and her lips changed into a thin line. She shifted her gaze to Ron, who didn't meet her eyes, but had now focused on the table instead of the wall, or her eyes what seemed like the normal thing to do in such a situation.

She decided to handle the matter with care, too tired to start any conflict. "What hasn't Ron told me yet?" Her voice was sharper and edgier than she meant it to be, she momentarily closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening again.

Harry was looking pointedly at Ron, but Ron just kept his eyes on the table. Admitting his defeat that was spoken in silent words between the two, Harry focused his gaze back to Hermione, "Okay, I think it's me who has to tell you." He scraped his throat and she rolled her eyes.

"We've been accepted to Auror training."

It remained silent for a second, as Hermione had to progress his formally, which were void from any emotions. Then Ginny broke out in sobs and she started screaming desperate pleas, and clawing hopelessly at Harry's arm.

The realisation crashed into her too, " _What_?" She stood up and she looked first at Harry, and then Ron, accusation and hurt flashing bright in her brown eyes. "What the _fuck_."

"Hermione-," Harry desperately pleaded, worry flashing in his eyes.

"Don't! _How_ could you do this without telling me first?" She hissed.

"We already expected you'd become angry, but why are you even becoming angry in the first place? Decisions like this should be made by us, and we don't need _your_ approval!" Harry's voice grew louder with each word he spoke, which agitated her only further, resulting in her screaming too.

"You ask me _why_? Are you _fucking_ insane! You _know_ how I think of Aurors."

"And I think your opinion is bullocks." Harry had stood up too. "The fact that you don't want anything to do with violence doesn't mean violence is wrong. You are _wrong_ about it Hermione."

She huffed as a reply to his ridiculous claim, "I'm not _wrong_."

Harry pointed a finger to her, "You don't realize that you killing and hurting people in the War was just!"

Her eyes grew big and gathered tears at that, pursing her lips in anger, her voice shrill, "Because it wasn't just!"

Harry's voice turned softer, lowering his finger, "It was, Hermione."

"No! I've killed people without seeing what face there was behind their mask, without _thinking_."

He was walking towards her and said with a plea, "You did that in order to survive! In order for others to survive!"

Ginny's sobs turned into hysterical cries.

"Well, maybe I didn't want to survive if I knew I would end up like _this,_ living my life like _this_!"

Harry's eyes turned big like saucers, stopping in his tracks with a shock, and Ginny stopped crying. Ron still looked at the table, obviously pretending that he wasn't there, the coward.

Hermione voice turned into a hissing as she continued, "You know what, you go out and hurt and kill people! I thought we were done with that. Why would you want to do this? You are only sulking in the past."

Harry looked hurt at her words, but she kept her gaze firm and steady, not wanting any other emotions but anger to take over.

"You don't understand, Hermione. I am the Chosen One."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and smack him, "Voldemort is _dead_ , Harry. You are not obliged to fight evil."

"You don't understand me!" At this point, he just sounded like a sodden baby to her, so she said, her voice void of any understanding or sympathy, "Right now, I don't even want to understand you." And with that she left the kitchen and retrieved herself to the drawing room, leaving Harry frozen, Ginny crying and Ron trying to convince himself he had no place in the argument and wondering why Harry had ever opened the damned can of worms.

 **-XXXXXXXXX-**

She didn't know for how long she had been sitting behind the piano in the drawing room, playing away her anger and sadness with some Bach, which didn't make her feel any better at all.

Time had been a lost concept this last year, due she had spent her time doing nothing and just waiting around for her life to restart. It hadn't been her first argument with Harry on the Auror subject; she just never expected he would actually apply. She would always know Harry's next steps, because he was like a brother to her and she like a sister to him. But now she just wanted to strangle him.

Had she been so caught up in her own silly 'waiting around' or did he just push her away, like he had always done, when it became difficult? Ron had certainly pushed her away this last week. But she knew that Harry would enter this room soon and that he would just sit beside her and watch her play. He would ask her if she wanted a cup of tea and if she would join them for bed.

So she carried on playing just in case she was once again, right.

Moments later, she heard that the door behind her was softly opened, but she remained playing. She heard his footsteps on the soft carpet, him walking towards her, but she still went on playing. No way she was going to turn around. She just kept her fingers moving and pressing on the keys. He had reached the piano and sat on the other side of the long bench that stood in front of it, but turning around, she saw it wasn't Harry- it was Ron. She had been wrong again.

"We are going to bed, do you-" Ron had nearly screamed, because the loud sound of the piano, so she stopped playing, what caused him to stop speaking too. "-Want to join us." He finished softly.

She looked him in the eye and nodded. She pushed the crutch backwards and they stood up, Ron softly grabbing her hand when they walked through the room, then the corridors and up the stairs. All the paintings were asleep, which made it for her more silent than usual.

In the daytime there would always be soft whispers and silent cursing when she past them, or even screaming when they were in a foul mood. She had asked Harry multiple times to put them somewhere in an empty room, but he didn't want to touch them, the paintings reminding him of his time here when Sirius was still alive. She didn't understand how awful people, who were painted for preserving _their_ memory, could help you relive _your_ memory of a beautiful time, scarce in your traumatizing past.

When they had reached the third floor, Ron still held her hand and led her to their room. She knew what he wanted; they hadn't slept together this week and obviously he thought that this was a good moment.

She didn't want to fight, so when they stood beside their bed, she let him undress her and she quickly and silently undressed him. All without him saying anything too, only the sound of his quickening breathe caused by her touch ringing in her ears.

When they were naked, he moved his hands towards her breasts and started to massage them. Even God knew she didn't like that, but she let him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him better access, and he lowered his head to suck softly on her nipples. He pushed himself closer, so she felt his arousal against her hip. She lowered her own hand and began to stroke herself, in order to get aroused too. Pornographic images flashed in her head and she felt herself getting wet.

She didn't feel sorry for him about the fact his touch or naked body couldn't arouse her; it had always been this way, but she still felt guilty, in a strange way. She loved him, she really did, but he just couldn't let her show him her love through intimacy, her love wasn't build like that.

He had always been a selfish man.

He pushed her onto the bed and climbed on top of her. He didn't kiss her mouth; instead he began to suck rather painfully on her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to think of more pleasurable things other men could do to her.

His first thrust caused him to moan in pleasure, but she didn't feel anything more than pain at his harsh and forcing entrance.

"You are so bloody tight." He whispered in her ear.

She had to refrain from pushing him off and slapping him; she wasn't a sodden merry he could tread whenever he felt like it.

His thrusts followed up quicker and quicker and she once again faked her moans. She had never came by his accord, always by her own. She knew he was on the edge. She faked her own orgasm and shortly after that he came too with a loud grunt.

He rolled off of her and fell asleep.

She listened to his loud breathing and after that his snoring. She grabbed her wand from her bedside table and put a Silencing Charm on him.

She sighed; she knew she couldn't keep ' _them'_ going for much longer. She knew he wanted to marry her and have a big family. She knew he thought that she wanted this too, but she didn't want to marry, she didn't want five kids, she didn't want to have bad sex for the rest of her life and she didn't want to have daily arguments with him, which she knew she would have if she stayed with him.

She had to break up.

The problem was, she loved him and she didn't really want to break up, cherishing the comfort and familiarity he brought with him. Also Ginny and Harry would hate her, maybe even break off contact, it already was like they had no attention for her anyways.

There was a high chance too she couldn't longer live here. She didn't want to live her in the first place, but she had nowhere else to go. She could buy her own flat, but although she hated to admit it, she would be scared something would happen to her physically or mentally without anyone nearby.

Breaking up with Ron would mean breaking up with all three.

She was stuck; stuck in a relationship and situation she didn't want to be in and never had control over in the first place. Was there one moment in her life where she had made her own choices? She had been thrown in difficult situations over and over, till this day.

She let her mind roll over the fights and moments of peace today. Today Harry had told her they were going to Auror training, which meant they went away. Maybe this was her chance. Maybe she could leave too, because they barely would be home. She could escape from it all. She only had to see what she was going to do with her life after her 'escape'.

She looked over at Ron, suddenly feeling dirty from his touch; she stepped out of bed and walked towards the bathroom. She turned on the faucets of the bathtub with a flick of her wand and poured her favourite jasmine-scented oil in the water. When the tub was filled to the brim with hot water, she slowly lowered herself in it. She breathed in the sweet smell and she felt her muscles relax.

Leaning her head back, she lowered her right hand between her legs. She softly began to stroke her clit, which became more erect each moment that passed; first she ran circles around it, and then rubbing it between her folds of skin. A pleasurable kind of heat spread across her legs, making her toes curl and a soft whimper escape from her lips. Her breathing became more hasted and the whimpers transformed into soft moans, the longer she continued and the faster she rubbed.

But she found she couldn't continue towards her climax, guilt and shame settling itself in her brain.

This was selfish.

She angrily slapped down her hand on the surface of the water, which resulted in her hand burning in pain, quickly pressing it to her body. She let out a frustrated groan; tears stinging in her eyes.

She carefully stepped out the hot bath, placing her feet slowly on the white marble tiles, afraid to slip. When she looked in the seven feet tall mirror, she saw that her skin had turned pinkish from the water's heat and her hair was frizzled and had became enormous.

It was then when she realized, as she took in her small form with angry and unsatisfied eyes, that she wasn't happy anymore with herself and the way her life was heading.

She slept the remainder of the night in the drawing room next to the piano, on a hard, cold sofa.

 **-XXXXXXXXX-**

 **A/N: I think we can all agree Hermione's not really healthy.**

 **I'm back again, trying to write/finish/update a fic again.**

 **Regarding grammar faults: English is my second language and I'm in desperate need for a beta, anyone interested?**

 **Regarding the story: This will be quite a long story, including five books, and about five chapters each. The chapters will be spread over multiple updates, so this chapter isn't finished, it has a part two (do you understand or nah?).  
It's not going to be a happy or fluffy story, it is quite angsty and I have a feeling you will not find the end satisfactory, but I love it (because I'm the author, and they tend to love their own endings). There is a risk I will never finish or update this story (or it will take me two years...), BUT I WILL TRY. There will not much smut, only if it's relevant to the story and/or characters. It's still rated M for that, plus possible harsh language. **

**I like reviews, and would be thrilled if you'd like to be my beta.**

 **Next up: Draco and Blaise :)**

 **-Hannah**


	2. Prologue: Disappearer II

**Reaching for The Beatific**

 **Book 1: The Styx**

 **Prologue: Disappearer**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, although I sure wish I did.**

 **A/N: Sorry for the late update, it's been a hell of a month. I finally got around finishing this chapter and updating it in a stroke of inspiration. I have autumn break, and with the knowledge the next three weeks will be busy too, I'll try to make it up with part three of the prologue this week! Love you all :)**

 **II**

 **I can't fight if the odds are against me**

 _20_ _th_ _of August 1999_

He had woken in a state that wasn't like his own and he had tried to understand this sudden change, but he couldn't touch it. It was like these ants were stuck under his skin and were trying to break out, a nearly indescribable feeling of being on your edge, when everything annoys you, which results in your whole body itching.

Maybe you could describe it as a volcano almost erupting.

Draco hadn't felt like this in a very long time, and he couldn't put his finger on the culprit who did this to him. The sun was coming through the window and was shining in his eyes as he was furiously typing on his typewriter, ticking away, forming pretty words in his head, trying to get rid of the horrible state; a state that was only added on top of his big feeling of guilt and boredom.

Draco was quite done with everything and everyone that surrounded him. Still he felt like he shouldn't complain- he was wealthy, didn't have to work and he had good friends on whom he could count. He was just sick of his bad image, his fucked-up parents and the boredom that ruled his life.

He _had_ tried to be a writer last year, writing about his awful experiences as a forced Death-Eater, hoping that with that, his bad past would be cleared. It wasn't as easy as he convinced himself it would be, and somewhere along he had realized that maybe he should just accept his past and don't care what other people thought.

But that didn't work out- he was quite sensitive about dirty looks and awful words behind his back, making the guilt come back. It felt like everyday he was tortured by his own conscience and it made him wonder how long he could go on at this pace. Change what was he need, change in environment, people and state of mind.

He wondered what the satisfactory change would be, and when it would represent itself, because he wasn't talking about isolation; he was talking about achieving something. Something, anything, that would yank him out of this room, make him run with passion, kneel and shiver in passion. Something that would make him have to fight for once.

But the odds were against him, because he had duties towards his friends and Mother, and he couldn't leave him behind, and they would never understand his needs. So his fingers simply kept typing in an almost desperate way, wanting to get rid of his entire fucked-up mind on the paper.

" _And when I turned around to look, a natural movement according to the law of the understanding brain, the men had turned around too, and my brain didn't understand anymore for a split second, as the fist of the ugly one connected with my jaw, and I turned in the air, and fell face-forward on the ground. The wheels of my brain started a hopeless attempt to start turning again, even attempting to start spinning from adrenaline for all that it did matter, but it was too late. The adrenaline didn't come, no fighting spirit to hang on to, because I felt forces kick in my gut sooner than I expected, and all desire to live made its way up my throat. I think I threw my brain up, then and there, in the knockturn alley of the best night of my life."_

Draco suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and in partly surprise and partly anger, he spun in his chair with an angry groan. Without looking at the person who touched him, he snapped, "What the fuck are you thinking, disturbing me!"

When he finally focused his gaze, he saw the big frightened eyes of the witch he had took home the night before. Fresh guilt buzzed in his veins and a deep sigh escape his lips, "Oh fuck, I'm sorry, that was . . . inappropriate, I was busy with important business."

At his semi-apology, she seemed to awaken from her fright, and with her chin up in the air and the narrowing of her big brown eyes, her demeanor changed in her normal one, "It's fine, _Draco_ , I'm alright with leaving you to your more important business."

He tried to grab her hand, a headache already forming, but with a spin and a few steps, the sound of the door getting smashed into the doorpost, echoed through the room.

He fell backwards in his seat with another sigh. The silence hadn't passed over him for only a couple seconds, when he heard the front door opening again. With an irritated groan he sat up straight again, only sinking back in the soft leather when he saw it was his flat-mate, the infamous womanizer Blaise Zabini.

Blaise was looking at him with a smirk, arms crossed and hip outwards. The Italian was barely seconds in the room, and he was already annoying and grinding on Draco's nerves with his confusing and incomprehensible behaviour, which made him snap, "What are _you_ smirking at!"

Blaise's smirk just widened into a toothy smile, and then in a hearty laugh.

"For fuck's sake Blaise, why are you standing there like that?"

Blaise had stopped laughing out loud, blinking away the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes, and he waved it off with a gesture and just smirked. That just annoyed Draco even further, if that was even possible, but realizing there was no point to ask, he tried to calm himself by combing one hand through his hair before asking, "Where have you been anyways? We are out of coffee."

Blaise shrugged off his coat and hang it on the hallstand, shaking his head lightly again before answering, "It's Sunday morning, Draco, I was out with friends. And about that coffee," he reached out for the plastic bag that stood by his feet, and held it triumphantly into the air, "I had bought some, along with other things, on my way home."

Draco couldn't hide his surprise at his best friend's thoughtfulness; it wasn't often it seemed like he did anything other than going out, drink and annoy him. Draco nodded, "Thank you, then."

He stood up and followed Blaise into the kitchen, taking the coffee from his friend and began to prepare two cups of strong black coffee. Blaise turned to him, clearing his throat to catch his attention. When Draco turned his head with an eyebrow raised in curiosity of what the Italian had to say, he found that the Italian had crossed his arms and that he looked, actually serious.

"We're coming together tonight at the restaurant Pansy loves; I would like it if you would come too, because I have something to tell you all."

Draco nodded, "Of course, I'll skip dinner at my Mother's and only stay there for afternoon tea, no problem."

Blaise gave him a smile, "Thank you," and then with a knowing glance and a smirk, "and be there at eight."

Draco handed him his cup of coffee, and said laughing, "Of course, Mother."

As always with his best friend and himself, the air was cleared in only a matter of seconds and their banter kicked in.

 **-XXXXXXXXX-**

Whenever Draco crawled out of his hole -his apartment-, it was either for groceries or for visiting his Mother, but never happily. He used to enjoy being outside, taking a stroll, greeting people, but everything had changed when Voldemort returned, and it had only gotten worse for 'the likes of him' after the war.

People were afraid of him, thought he was a monster, or people hated him with a passion and spit and scorned at him, and there had been incidents of abuse in the past. But how unpleasant going outside could be, he couldn't just leave London behind, because of his poor Mother and his friends.

Now he stood before the grand doors of the Manor, hesitating- he could turn and leave, or knock. The decision was easier than expected, and his hand banged firmly two times on the door.

His Mother herself, to his surprise, was who opened the door open, and not yet come to he was crushed into a tight hug. She smelled just the same as in his memories; like her signature expensive perfume and her own defining smell, which he couldn't describe, but was just his Mother's.

When she finally released him, he gave her a warm smile, "How are you doing, Mother?"

Narcissa rolled her eyes and replied, "That depends on how you are doing, you know that."

She grabbed him by the hand and they walked through the foyer and passed many doors, before arriving in front of the tea room's door. He caught his Mother's arm with his other hand and forced her to stop in front of the door, resulting in her frowning down on him.

"What's the matter, Draco?"

"How are you, really?" Worry etched his voice, but he knew his Mother could at least appreciate his concern, although maybe not being able to answer it.

Her voice was colder than before when she said, "I'm fine, under circumstances.", her eyes showed melancholy, but behind that her dark cloudy eyes still held some happiness for simply being in her Son's company.

"Don't hesitate to accept help when this house grows to cold and lonely. I love you, Mother." He momentarily tightened the grip on his Mother's hand, and gave her a sad smile.

She gave him one too, kissed his forehead firmly, and gave him another bone-crushing hug, her scent washing over him again.

"I love you too, so so much, Draco!"

She released him and wiped the tears away which were lingering in the corners of her eyes with her little pink. She exhaled loudly and shook her head, "Enough of this! Let's drink some tea and talk about more important matters." She let go of his hand, put a small hand on his shoulder, and lead him into the tearoom.

Although they chatted happily, albeit carefully not to branch any sensitive matters again, and spent a lovely time together, he hadn't been able to shake off the shadow of his Father, which was lurking in every word she said, every smile and every breath that she drew in her lungs, all through their afternoon.

If only he could take her away from this cursed Manor, his cursed Father. If only they were able to let it all slide.

But he knew deep down, they weren't able to, ever.

And when he hugged her for the last time outside of the door, he wanted to set that whole house on fire, then fly to Azkaban to kill his Father, and then maybe kill himself too.

But he remained Draco Malfoy, a coward who loved his Mother too much to put any of those ideas in action, and so he apparated outside of the restaurant where his friends would be waiting for him.

-XXXXXXXXX-

The restaurant was hot and stuffy, and he was sure he already drank a liter of water before a sweaty waiter came with champagne after desert and Blaise, Theodore and Pansy stood up, each holding a flute already.

Pansy was holding Theo's hand and a huge smile was plastered on her face, and Blaise had a glint of mischief in his eyes; Draco couldn't help but notice his interest was piqued.

"We brought you all here because we have a proposition for you all." Blaise's excitement sounded through his voice and Astoria and Daphne, who were still seated, threw him questioning glares; he answered them with a raise of his shoulders.

"Theo and Pansy came to me a month ago with the news they were moving to Rome, to study Politics together. They knew it was one of my dreams to go to college in Rome, and wanted me to go with them. I'm going to apply tomorrow, but before I do that, I have a question for you all; how would you like to go to college in Rome with us?"

Draco found himself blinking in surprise at Blaise's proposition. Going to Rome would be the perfect twist in his life and he couldn't just say no without considering this amazing opportunity first.

He looked over at Daphne and Astoria; the two sisters were already excited and discussing plans, it was obvious they were going.

With a pang he realized that if he didn't go to, he would be the only one left here in London. Blaise shoved a champagne flute in his hand and asked with an annoying grin, "What do you think? Want to join us?"

Draco swallowed, "Do you mind if I sleep over it one night? This is a big decision to make in only seconds."

Blaise frowned, "I understand it, but I'm telling you; don't let your Mother dictate your life this much. This is a golden opportunity and you know it."

Draco sighed at his best friend's painfully awkward observation of his resentment and took a large gulp of his champagne, ending the conversation by shifting his gaze and looking out of the window, too tired to continue it.

The sounds of Pansy's shrill laugh and the sister's squealing reached his ears and he tried hard to suppress them. Deep down he knew that he hadn't much choice than to accept. This was a golden opportunity, a chance to finally turn the ink black page in his life and begin anew.

The only sacrifice he had to make was the company of his Mother, but truth be told, his Mother's company was a bigger strain on him than he wanted to admit, and so the choice was- quicker and easier than expected- made, and when he was home, he wrote the dreaded letter to his Mother.

 _Dear Mother,_

 _I have exciting news for you, but I'm afraid it isn't exciting for our relationship._

 _My friends and I have made plans for college in Rome this evening, and I'm already applying tomorrow. I know this is very quick and hasted, but trust me when I say I thought well and hard about this._

 _I'm going for English Literature and maybe Politics, and I hope I will be accepted and can start in September._

 _This is a golden opportunity and I can't waste it. I'm ready to turn this page in my life, and start anew._

 _You know as well as I do how much I wanted that._

 _I hope you support my choice and wish me the best of luck._

 _I love you,_

 _Your Son, Draco_

Nerves and insecurity, but also excitement, buzzing in his veins, he sent off the owl and sent himself off to bed.

He dreamed of Jupiter visiting his Father in Azkaban and hitting him with his lightning bolt, before joining his two Brothers on a broomstick to fly back to his temple in Rome. The wind that was blowing through Jupiter's platinum hair sounded an awful lot like Pansy's laughter.

 **-XXXXXXXXX-**

 **A/N: Please review; I need a drive to write that part three ;)  
A thank you in advance,  
Hannah**


	3. Prologue: Disappearer III

**Reaching for The Beatific**

 **Book 1: The Styx**

 **Prologue: Disappearer**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I sure wish I did.**

 **A/N: Thank you writerspassion18 for the wonderful support and tips you gave me! I hope the dialogue has worked out this time :)**

 **So, here's another chapter. I wanted to update earlier, but I was a bit indecisive about the later part of the chapter, but I think I did a good job eventually.**

 **Because I only got two reviews, I would like to ask you if you could leave a message too! Reviews are like nutrition for fanfic writers, and the more reviews, the quicker we want to update! If I get three new reviews, I might even update on Sunday... ;)**

 **So enjoy part three, and I hope I did well!**

 **Love,  
-Hannah**

* * *

 **III**

 **Till I rise he fills my skies**

 _20th of June 1999_

The early morning sun that came through the window shone on Ginny's hair -which made her look more angel than human- while they were sitting on the bed in one of the guestrooms Hermione had taken residence in, after another tiring and emotional fight with Harry and Ron.

Since Harry had told her the news, things had been tense in the house, and after two days, the bomb had exploded and Hermione had moved herself to this room. Ginny had then obviously found the courage to come to her room, and had woken her gently, so now Hermione was watching her hair with sleepy eyes.

Her voice sounded like that of a sixty year old man who had been smoking all his life when she opened her mouth for the first time that day to say something, "Gin, what are you doing here?"

Ginny had been staring out of the window since she got here, five minutes ago, but at her question she turned around with a small smile. "I'm not entirely sure how to approach this, but I've done a great deal of thinking and I wanted to ask you something."

Hermione gestured for her to go on when she just went on staring at something behind Hermione. "You know what Hermione, I knew Ron and Harry were applying for much longer, I think for a month already. In that month it slowly became clear that I don't want to stay behind in this house."

Hermione couldn't hide her own surprise; it had been a while since Ginny had said such full sentences, and with content that one couldn't predict. "Ginny what do you mean? Are you going to apply for Auror training too?"

Ginny sighed shakily and shifted her attention back to Hermione, before nodding a no, "I'm not becoming an Auror. I decided to go to college."

It was silent for a moment, and Ginny studied her face in search of some reaction. As always, Hermione's first reaction was a question, or rather a bulk of them.

"What college? Where?"

"Well, we really have only one Wizarding College in Europe, and that's in Rome."

"Gin, are you saying-"

With a watery smile, Ginny said, "Yes, Hermione, I think going to Rome. I mean, I'm not entirely sure."

Hermione was shell-shocked; all this time she thought that Ginny would stay with Harry, support him with every step he took, and eventually waste away under the pressure of the remaining unprocessed grief. It turns out, she had been wrong all the time. Under Ginny's silent demeanour the old, bold girl she knew from before the war was still hiding. If that was true, it was very likely Harry and Ron didn't know, and wouldn't know of it till it was too late. It was apparent Ginny was angry and hurt too because of the ignorance and selfishness of the two boys, and that she wasn't planning to be the perfect housewife Harry wanted her to be; just as Hermione wasn't anticipating that she was staying any longer with Ron.

"Do Harry and Ron know?"

Ginny laughed softly, "No. Of course they don't; they'll never let me go." She rolled her eyes and Hermione couldn't help but think that the old Ginny truly had come back to her.

"But why do you tell me this then?"

After another pause, Ginny said, "I'm asking you to come with me."

Another wave of surprise hit Hermione full force at Ginny's proposition. Going to college in Rome? She wouldn't lie; she had thought about going back to the Muggle world and attend college there, but her plans seemed a bridge too far due her current situation. But now, the opportunity to go- and to a _Wizarding_ college- was right in front of her to grab.

But doubt came ever so quickly around the corner and she couldn't help but feel insecure and afraid. She hadn't been studying since taking off and hunting Horcruxes; what if she wasn't competent enough?

It was Ginny's comforting hand, smile and soft voice that shook Hermione from her worries, "I know it's a big thing to ask out of the blue, but believe me when I tell you that this is the right thing to do; studying has always helped you, and I bet nothing has changed that, not even the war. I'm asking you to come with me, Hermione."

Hermione had to blink away the tears that started to appear at Ginny's words and nodded. Trying to find words, "Thank you for understanding." was the only thing she came up with.

Ginny moved over and gave her a small, albeit a reassuring hug, so that Hermione knew Ginny understood her reaction and wasn't disappointed.

Ginny extended herself from Hermione's embrace and looked her straight in the eye with a happy glint, "I know your brain is still fidgeting on this whole plan, so I think this is the right moment to walk to my room and let me show you all the information I've collected and the plans I've already made."

Hermione let out a nervous laugh at the fact that Ginny, of all people, considered to collect information.

Ginny winked at her and pulled them upwards and off the bed, which caused her in noting that Ginny still had her strength and hadn't quite lost her athletic touch.

She grabbed Ginny's hand and led them into the hall, all the while wondering what Rome would look like. What kind of ambiance would it have? How would college look like? What would she study? What were the available options? Would she meet new people? Would she feel happy? What would the teachers be like? How would it feel to have the carry the weight of books again? Would the college building be located close to the historical centre of the city? Would she meet the love of her life in the city of romance? How would Wizarding Rome look like?

She was harshly tugged out of ever expanding league of questions by Ron's voice, "What are you girls doing?"

She quickly looked over her shoulder at Ginny, who appeared to have crawled back into her shell at the sight of her big brother.

She turned to Ron with a tense jaw, fresh anger bubbling up for his decision to leave and the fact that his presence ruined Ginny's good mood, and forced herself to answer, "We were walking to Ginny's room, she wanted to show me something."

A frown appeared between Ron's eyebrows, "Well, alright. I just wanted to say that Harry and I are off to our first Auror training."

Hermione nodded airily. "Sure, but don't expect dinner when you come home. I'm taking Ginny out, you know, girl time."

Ron fidgeted nervously and awkwardly raised his hand and gave a little wave before turning around and descending the stairs.

When the sound of his heavy footsteps on the creaky staircase lowered, Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Ginny.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Ginny drew in a shaky breath, "Yeah. It's just every time I see him I just feel a bit sad again."

Hermione could only nod along; she felt exactly the same. "I know, Gin, I feel it too. But at the same time, it makes my need to leave this place stronger, so show me that information you collected."

They smiled at each other and enveloped in a big hug, before Ginny pulled her to her room and excitedly pulled a big map out under the bed.

She sat on the ground, the map in her lap, and Hermione joined her.

The amount of time Ginny had spent on the research, baffled her. She had a list of the curriculum, various activities, all sorts of communities and clubs, different housing locations, book shops, pictures of the venue and buildings, information about the history and building of the university and of course lots of information of the beautiful city of Rome itself.

After flipping the map and dreaming about the future for what seemed days, Hermione said, "Wow, Gin, it truly amazes me how much time you put into this."

"I know, it started as a dream, and to be honest, it was still a dream until this afternoon. Now that I know you're thinking of going too, this all seems much more realistic."

Hermione sighed and moved over to look Ginny in the eyes, "So, are you going to apply?"

Ginny frowned and almost whispered, "We still have ten days to apply, till the end of June. It's not that I don't want to go, it's just that I'm. . . afraid."

Hermione moved over and grabbed Ginny's hand, squeezing it for comfort, "Do you already know which curriculum you're going to choose?"

Ginny squeezed back, "I would like to study for Healer. Do you think I can do it?"

"Yes, of course! It fits you perfectly."

"And you? Do you have an idea?"

Since she spotted Classics in the curriculum, Hermione's mind was only able to think about that. She had been obsessed with the Greek and Roman mythology, and the languages were fascinating. She had spent many hours in the library discovering the secrets of translating and understanding the languages while she was at Hogwarts, and sometimes she read books on the stories about the gods and goddesses. She had already decided that she wouldn't waste her talent and work for the Ministry; maybe she could become a teacher, or spend her days translating and reading.

"We can skim the map again if you're indecisive. . ." Ginny said insecurely.

"No! It's not that I don't like anything, in fact, I've seen something that caught my attention, big time."

Ginny squeezed her hand again reassuringly, "So, what is it?"

"I've saw that they taught the Classics, and you know how obsessed I am with those-"

Ginny wrapped her up in a big hug before Hermione could finish her sentence, "Oh Hermione, that's perfect, you should totally do that."

They let go of each other and Ginny looked her in the eyes. It was she who broke the silence too, "So, are we going to do this?"

"I think we are obliged looking at all the work you've put into this, and plus, we have the chance to live our dreams; we're going to regret this forever if we don't act on it."

A small tear managed to escape Ginny, before being wiped away hastily, "You're right. I'm going downstairs to grab some parchment and quills and call an owl."

Ginny stood up and walked out of the room.

Hermione sighed heavily and put her head in her hands. What on earth was she getting herself into? Was she even ready to jump into this abyss of life? On one hand she felt this huge urge to escape the life she was leading, and jump up and head off, searching for happiness, knowledge, and maybe even love.

But on the other hand, she didn't know what was out there, what if all went wrong? What if this was a mistake she would look at later in her life, regretting everything and much more?

But what could go wrong? It was just college, right? Why did she feel so insecure about doing something that came so naturally to her?

Why couldn't she just jump into the abyss of life, just like she did when she was eleven years old?

She pulled the map onto her lap, flipping it mindlessly, looking at the gorgeous pictures and feeling more indecisive any second.

Did she even have a fair choice now that she had fallen in love with Rome?

She had fallen in love with it only through pictures of the great city, what would happen if she could behold it with her own eyes?

The questions and doubts made her mind ache, and she stood up and laid herself on Ginny's bed. Within seconds she had fallen in a deep sleep, dreaming about the goddess Juno.

The goddess was angry at Rome; angry at the city she was in love with. It had betrayed her, and she was jealous. The light of the city damped out when her anger just grew, and slowly she moved the city towards a big, black abyss she had created with a wave of her golden staff.

The only source of light was her golden crown and staff, and the only sound was the thunder above, the screams of the city's people drowned out by its violence. The city moved and moved closer to destruction, the goddess looking fierce surrounded by her golden lights, high up in the air with a satisfied grin.

"How dare they all come to this city without bowing down low to me! One who comes to Rome with intents of power and money, never goes back, I'll make sure of that."

Hermione woke up the moment the city was pushed in the void, breathing heavily and a thin layer of sweat covering her body. The sweat was like ice on her skin, and she shivered because of it, quickly pulling the blankets tighter around her, but without much result.

She remembered laying down in Ginny's bed, but when she looked around, she noticed she was moved into the guestroom again.

She was in desperate need of fresh air.

The only light came from a candle, its golden light illuminating the room enough for her to climb out of bed and find some clothes.

She put on warm clothes, but left her feet bare, and silently made her way through the house, careful not to wake anyone, till she had reached the French doors that led to the garden. Letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling of the cool air, she let her bare feet feel the grass.

It was a cloudless night, and the stars shined brightly. She had once read that the Blacks had put a spell on the garden so that you always had a good view of the constellations at night, whatever time of year it was, and she laid herself down on the grass and searched and named all the constellations to nobody in particular.

Serpens caput and Serpens cauda smiled down at her, the head and tail of the snake, hold by the constellation Ophiuchus, named after the healer Asclepius. The story came then to her, about how the healer had held on to the snake and killed it, but the snake survived, because another snake had given it a resurrection herb before the healer could get to it.

Snakes stood for rebirth since then, and legend goes that the healer had used the method of the snake himself, reviving many people afterwards.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! And remember, three reviews means a chapter on Monday. That chapter will be the last part of the prologue, and then book one will really kick off!**

 **A bit of a hint for the last part of the prologue: We will see Rome for the first time through the eyes of Draco, and I'll try to put in as much Roman mythology as is socially acceptable haha. Also I'll add a drop** **of humor ;)**

 **Now I'm going to drink my much deserved green chai tea and cake, and then: sleeeeppppppp.**


	4. Prologue: Disappearer IV

**Reaching For The Beatific**

 **Book 1: Styx**

 **Prologue IV: Disappearer**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I sure wish I did.**

 **A/N: Many thanks to Chester99, Guest, Zen (guest) and Codevivi for the sweet and encouraging reviews. You guys are simply the best and I hope I'll catch you guys again!**

 **The last part of the prologue is her, hyped? I know I am though..**

 **I hope you guys like it and let me hear what you think :)**

 **Love, Hannah**

* * *

 **IV**

 **I took a look into the hate**

 _21st of August 1999_

Great marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses lined the entrance hall of the university, the ceiling was covered in a mosaic work of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, an owl flanking her arm, and big tapestries telling myths hung on the walls. Since Draco had entered the building, his eyes had been everywhere at once, the beautiful decorations and art and its colours mesmerizing him. There was art that must have been made centuries ago, around the time the college was constructed, which had found place even before Christ was born.

It seemed Blaise was here often, or he acted like it, because he didn't spare a glance at his surroundings, and led the way deeper into the building at a quick pace, with the air of someone who had been a student here for years already. It was safe to say Draco was surprised and overwhelmed.

After walking from hall to hall, across different classrooms and climbing different stairs, Blaise stopped walking and pointed to a big oak door at the end of the hall they were in. At a much calmer pace they walked towards it, Blaise straightening himself as if he was preparing for a fight.

He opened the door and Draco walked in after him. They stepped into a small office, an old woman with glasses perched at the tip of her nose, was seated at a desk. The whole room was positively stacked with parchment and old dusty books, and you could hardly see the old woman through the mess.

Not even looking up to see who got in, she said in a thick Italian accent, "Good morning. You can make an appointment by sending an owl; average waiting time is six weeks. Have a nice day."

Draco started walking back to the door, thinking they needed to leave, but Blaise stopped him by holding up his hand. "Dear Miss Moretti, I hardly think I need to make an appointment."

The old witch finally looked up with that, peeking over her spectacles with a raised eyebrow, and said in an irritated and tired voice, "Young Zabini."

Blaise simply nodded in acknowledgement and said with a big grin, "Miss Moretti, Sei come me? Bello vederti di nuovo; L'ultima volta che ti ho visto non eri vecchia come ora!"

Moretti narrowed her eyes, threw up her hands and huffed, "Ho avuto un sacco di dispiacere atteso il giorno che si sarebbe solo a piedi in questa stanza. Ma Oh, va bene, ma all'interno, il suo calendario è gratuito per quest'ora. Non dimenticate i saluti a tua madre bella da fare.''

Blaise led out a hearty laugh at that, and spread his arms in mock innocence.

Draco nudged Blaise with his elbow, not understanding anything at all of what was said, "What did she say?"

Blaise grabbed him by the upper arm and slowly led him to another door in the room, "She said she despised me, that we could see the headmistress of this University, Signora Da Sangallo, and that I had to remember to send her regards to my mother." He turned one last time to Moretti, winked, and then knocked on the door to what Draco guessed was Da Sangallo's office.

After a small voice called from the other side of the door, permitting them entrance, Blaise sauntered with easy step in the room, Draco following closely behind him.

The room was much lighter and tidier than expected after the sight of the office space they were previously in. Big windows on one side of the room let in an oasis of light, books were neatly stocked and arranged in a big bookshelf that covered the other side of the room, and in the middle of the room, a great oak desk stood, an old, petite lady sitting behind it, scribbling away on a piece of parchment.

Draco suddenly felt overwhelmed by the realness of it all; he was in Rome, he was in the office of the headmistress, he was one step away from his new life. So why did he feel like he didn't belong already?

 _When in Rome, do as the Romans._

"Oh, please do take a seat, Young Zabini." The lady, which Draco assumed was Da Sangallo, said in a singsong voice, still scribbling away.

"Miss Da Sangallo, what a pleasure to see you again, after all these years." Draco heard Blaise say, his tone more polite and restricted than the one he had used to talk with Moretti.

Da Sangallo looked up after they had taken there seats, and if she was surprised to see Draco there, she didn't show it; her eyes merely flicked over him in an almost bored manner, "Tell me, young Zabini, who is this gentleman you brought with you?"

Before Draco got the chance to compose and introduce himself, Blaise said matter-of-factly, "This is Draco Malfoy, my best friend since childhood. He wants to apply too."

Da Sangallo's gaze turned to Draco and lingered for a second too long on his face, as if her interest was piqued at the sound of his name. Well, of course she was; he was a Malfoy; he had been a Death-Eater.

"Tell me, young Malfoy, did you lose your tongue so that you can't even introduce yourself? I can tell you, it doesn't surprise me."

Clear dismissal sounded through her words, and he was taken aback; he hadn't spoken a word and she already thought of him as lacking.

 _When in Rome, do as the Romans._

So he chuckled lightly, and said politely, "Of course not, _young Zabini_ just jumped the queue of speakers, as is expected of him."

Blaise turned to me, surprise and anger evident in his eyes.

Da Sangallo averted her gaze again, clearly dismissing Draco. "Now tell me, Zabini, what is your business here in Rome?"

"We would like to apply for college, Miss Da Sangallo."

"I already thought you would. Actually, I already expected you here last year, but you didn't come, why is that?"

Blaise faltered for a second in answering, but he quickly composed himself again, "We took a spare year, after. . .-"

Da Sangallo quickly gestured for him not to finish that sentence, "Tell me, what course did you have in mind?"

"Ever since I was a boy, I wanted to take the same course as my father; Arithmancy. You know that, miss." Blaise answered politely.

The polite tone Blaise used made him wonder _why_ exactly Blaise was nearly licking this woman's ass. It made him wonder why exactly this woman asked questions she already knew the answers to. It made him wonder what kind of test this woman was setting out, and if it was meant only for him; because it had quickly became clear to him that in her eyes, he was an embodiment of the devil's spawn himself.

 _I don't want to act like the Romans._

Da Sangallo's looked at him again, a mocking eyebrow raised, "And you?" The not-quite hidden venom in her voice made him suppress a shiver.

He drew in a big breath to control his emotions, and said calmly, "I've always been interested in the Classics."

There wasn't any reply, instead, the woman stood up with a sigh and made her way across the office, the muffled sound of her heels on the carpet filling the tense air. She strode back to her desk with two forms, laying one in front of them each along with a quill and ink.

"You have to fill these out forms fully. When you're finished you can drop them off at my secretary, miss Moretti. She will process them. You will now within a day after you've sent it if you're accepted."

Blaise stood up, but when Draco was raising himself too, Da Sangallo lifted her hand, "I want to talk to you, Mr. Malfoy, for a few minutes privately."

Resentment and anger bubbled up inside of him, but did he even have a choice in this matter? He already had a suspiscion she was going to bullshit these 'couple of minutes' full.

He heard Blaise shut the door behind him, and the silence that followed made him feel even more tense.

 _Pathetic. I act like a little child._

He could only hope that a couple of minutes, truly meant, a couple of minutes. He still needed to visit their apartment with Blaise, fill out this form and write a letter to his mother; he just wanted this day to be over with.

He wanted to run. He wanted to go some place where he felt like he belonged, because the feeling of injustice and powerlessness seemed to lurk behind any corner, behind every face he saw, and he was sick of it.

 _What if I do deserve this; they have to have some kind of reason, right?_

 _Death-eater. Devil. Murderer. Just like my father._

Da Sangallo circled around her office space, her hands folded behind her back, and Draco was watching her, waiting for her to attack.

But when her voice reached his ears after another tense minute, it was rather anticlimactic; it sounded calm and eerie. She didn't want to fight, she wanted to dance.

The mocking voice echoed around in his skull again, _when in Rome, do as the Romans._

 _I always was a good dancer, my Mother said._

"I just wanted to warn you, Mr. Malfoy, that I have little tolerance for violence, the Dark-arts and Pureblood supremacy. I will take certain measures if you only just as stick your little Pureblooded toe out of line." She turned towards me, a mean glint in her eye, "You remind me too much of your Father, but nevertheless, I also have low tolerance for prejudices."

"That's. . . interesting, Miss Da Sangallo."

Her finger pointed accusingly at me, "Don't play coy, Malfoy, I know what kind of persons you and your family are." She had lost the dance, and she knew it. She wanted to fight.

 _My Mother always said that boys like me aren't made for fighting._

So he stood up, picked an imagery thread for him pants, and replied, "I can promise you, Miss, that I'm not the exact copy of my Father. I will behave, if only it was for my dear Mother's sake."

Da Sangallo smiled tightly, "But what are you even here for?"

He made his way to the door, turned around, shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I just want to study at an university."

He closed the door softly behind him, turned to the secretary and said, "You will receive my application this afternoon. Have a good day."

Striding through the abandoned halls, underneath high ceilings, past large windows that let in pale sunlight, a salutary peace came over him like a warm blanket. The ants disappeared.

Marble faces of great heroes and beatific gods gazed down on him, approving of him. Maybe it was just his insanity, maybe it were just emotions, that made him feel content. Anyway, it was soothing and nostalgic and quiet.

It reminded him of centuries ago, when he was a child, running through Mother's rose-garden, chasing Pansy and Blaise.

Even though he spent all his afternoon wandering through the soothing halls, Da Sangallo's piercing question kept ringing mockingly inside his skull, _"But what are you even here for?"_

And with the question, his imaginary and truthful answer, _Does it even matter?_

 **-XXXXXXXXX-**

The apartment was rich, red and romantic. It was big too, bigger than expected, bigger than it needed to be.

The first thing Blaise did was order booze.

The first thing Draco did was settling himself in his room.

He couldn't quite grasp the idea yet, that this was going to be his home for a couple of years. It wasn't that he was going to miss the Manor, but he had been fine with staying at campus. He would have been more than fine.

His room had his own bathroom, walk-in closet and study. It was all dark wood, renaissance paintings and even more marble.

 _It's cold. Unfamiliar. It's strange, but nice?_

Maybe this luxurious house just had to grow on him, just like you first need to warm up your sheets before you truly feel comfortable going asleep.

He sat behind the desk, filled out his application form and he lifted his owl from its cage. After figuring out how to open the window, he tied the form on the owl's leg and let him fly away.

He was examining the bathroom, opening cupboards, turning on faucets, when the shrill sound of the doorbell ringed through the house, a sound he wasn't accustomed to hearing. He heard Blaise open the door, laughter and happy chatter sounding from below the stairs.

"You got a lovely place right here. Greatly situated. And what a space!" He heard a voice call out, one he immediately recognized as Theodore Nott's.

He walked through his quarter, through the hall, and then descended the stairs. A wine bottle was popped open, Pansy was laughing at something.

He made his way through another hall, another room. He was already lost in this house, great.

By following the sounds, he finally found the kitchen. Inside he found as he had predicted; Pansy, Theodore and Blaise, standing around the kitchen's platform, each of them sipping red wine.

He closed the door behind him, the sound causing Pansy to spin around on her heel and exclaim, "Draco!"

Draco gave her his signature smirk, "Hey, Pansy, darling."

He felt Theo's gaze already burn into him as Pansy flew into his arms, making him stagger a little backwards in surprise.

"How are you doing? You seemed so absent last night!"

He laughed into her shoulder, "I'm great, Pansy. Thank you for asking." He pulled back and looked her in the eye, "And how are you doing, beautiful?"

He didn't think of it as possible, but Theo's gaze grew even hotter.

Blaise coughed, "Draco, do you want a glass too?"

He let go of Pansy and stepped away from her. Theo threw him a warning glare, but he couldn't care less about that douche. "Please, thank you." He replied to Blaise.

They had went through two bottles of fine wine, Pansy had made her infamous pasta and they had had French cheese as dessert, when Pansy was hiccupping and said, "Theo, babe, I think we need to go to our apartment." She slapped her head as if she had forgotten something, and added; "I totally forgot to invite you over for dinner next week! Everybody's coming, to celebrate our spare moments of free time before we dive into our books. Please do come."

"Of course, we'll be there, with an extra bottle of wine." Blaise replied with one of his stupid winks.

Pansy obviously didn't think of it as stupid, because she reached over and pinched both Blaise's cheeks. "You're just so cute." She slurred.

Theo quickly pulled her back in her chair, and said annoyed, "Come on, Pans, let's get you home. Remind me not to make you drink this much wine the next time around." He gave us both one last angry glare; as to blame us for Pansy's intoxicated state.

After receiving a peck on our cheeks, and after a few awkward waves, Pansy and Theo were gone, and the house quiet again.

Blaise drained his glass and stood up, "I'm going to bed, you too?"

Draco stood up too and glanced at the clock that hung above the mantle, "Yeah, it's already quiet late."

After taking a hot shower in his new bathroom, he grabbed a piece of parchment and quill, and wrote a letter to his Mother.

 _Dear Mother,_

 _Rome is even more beautiful than I thought it would be._

 _Today we went to the University and applied for our courses. I'm going to study the Classics; you know I always wanted to do that. I hope you're proud._

 _The college buildings are magnificent and absolutely breath-taking. I spent most of my early afternoon just wandering the halls, looking at the art, before I went to see our apartment._

 _I say apartment, but by definition it's more like a house! It's warm, cozy and luxurious._

 _I feel right at home._

 _I'm so excited for the years to come, and I'm very glad you support my choice._

 _You said in your letter that the_ _neighbour's_ _wife has fallen ill? I hope it's nothing serious, but send her my well wishes anyway._

 _I hope the British weather will not be too harsh on you._

 _Love,_

 _Your Son, Draco_

When he was done sending that one too, he found his acceptance letter laying on his bed.

 _I need to work on my Roman act_ , was his last thought before he drifted away in the too soft mattress.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review, so I can overload you with compliments (and maybe we can even chat a bit?)**

 **For questions or spoilers, just pm or go to my tumblr; my-wild-charms-for-you**


	5. Interlude: In The Colosseum

**Reaching For The Beatific**

 **Disclaimer #1: I don't own Harry Potter, but I sure wish I did.**

 **Disclaimer #2: I don't own Tom Waits, but I sure wish I did.**

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 **Interlude**

 **In The Colosseum- Tom Waits**

The women all control their men  
With razors and with wrists  
And the princess squeezes grape juice  
On a torrid bloody kiss  
What will you be wearing there  
The lion or the raven hair?  
The flesh will all be tearing  
But the tail will be my own  
In the colosseum tonight

This one's for the balcony  
And this one's for the floor  
As the senators decapitate  
The presidential whore  
The bald headed senators  
Are splashing in the blood  
The dogs are having someone  
Who is screaming in the mud  
In the colosseum tonight

Now it's raining and it's pouring  
On the pillaging and goring  
The constable is swinging  
From the chains  
For the dead there is no story  
No memory no blame  
Their families shout blue murder  
But tomorrow it's the same  
In the colosseum

A slowly acting poison  
Will be given to the favorite one  
The dark horse will bring glory  
To the jailer and his men  
It's always much more sporting  
When there's families in the pit  
And the madness of the crowd  
Is an epileptic fit  
In the colosseum

No justice here, no liberty  
No reason, no blame  
There's no cause to taint the sweetest taste of blood  
And greetings from the nation  
As we shake the hands of time  
They're taking their ovations  
The vultures stay behind  
In the colosseum, in the colosseum  
In the colosseum tonight

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 **A/N: Interlude between prologue and book one, Styx. Hoping to update chapter one Tuesday.**

 **This song fits like a glove, listen to it if you want to do yourself a favor.**

 **Review your thoughts or something.**

 **Love, Hannah**


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